


Minus

by monstersinthecosmos



Series: The Usher [5]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blood stuff, Hand Job, Laundry, M/M, Smoking Kink, daniel goes to the laundromat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: that vampire boyfriend lifestyle makes for awkward laundry day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Titled borrowed from [minuS by ohGr](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIu6Xykn4wI).
> 
> SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO [YUREIYUME](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YureiYume) FOR HELPING ME FLESH OUT THIS IDEA.
> 
> ALSO SHOUTOUT TO [@REMARRIED](http://remarried.tumblr.com/) BECAUSE I LOOKED THROUGH HER FANART FOR IDEAS ABOUT DANIEL'S CLOTHES OKAY.

_1982_

 

His pupils constricted so hard and fast that it sent a dull pain shooting through the center of his head. It wasn't just that he finally emerged from the darkness of his room, but that.... fuck, he couldn't even remember last time he'd been out in the sun.  He could _feel_ the light on his skin--not the warmth, but the light itself--and it seemed as though his body was relaxing into it. Like this was something needed.

He hefted the duffle bag on his shoulder and took a moment to adjust, shielding his eyes with his hand as he winced against the intrusion. Odd that Armand had reduced him to this somehow. Sunlight wouldn't destroy him, but this didn't feel at all normal nonetheless.

Where was Armand, anyway?

He kept his hiding place a secret, even from Daniel. Sometimes this insulted him a little bit, but he sort of understood. Armand wouldn't have wanted anyone being able to lift the details from his mind. _He probably doesn't trust me to stay away, either,_ he thought with a little huff. Always the pragmatist, Armand. But, with a little grin as he began to walk off down the block, he knew Armand was right. If he knew where Armand was during the day, he'd go see. Go and look. The curiosity tore him into bits sometimes.

Armand had laughed at him when he begged to know. Laughed.

And he would laugh at Daniel now, wouldn't he?

The laundromat on the corner was mostly empty. Midday and all. People had jobs. But Daniel appreciated that. Little things like this helped him stay connected to the real world, but he didn't want to be _that_ connected. No one in his way, no one asking questions. There didn't even have to be that awkward moment of looking around for a free machine. He picked one in the corner.

Yeah, Armand would laugh. "I'll buy you new clothes," he'd say.

_I don't want new clothes._

He began to empty his bag into the machine, eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching. He doubted anyone could see the cum stains from across the room, but _fuck_ it was too humiliating to risk. The moment he saw the gray fabric of the sweater sticking out from the bag his mind swarmed with the memory and he stuffed it into the machine without looking at it.  

Night before last.

Armand had picked someone up at the bar and brought him to the hotel. Daniel hadn't even been up yet; he awoke to Armand’s lips against his ear and the cool hand around his dick. Their friend was young, college kid, short like Armand and with a head of shaggy red curls. Armand coached them from the corner as Daniel pounded into the guy, and the voice, be it out loud or sent privately straight into his head, affected him as much as the sex itself did. As he buried himself in the stranger, to the hilt, as the heat and pressure ignited every nerve, it felt like Armand’s voice just poured gasoline on him. He was amazed he even lasted as long as he had; every time Armand spoke it made him want to come on the spot.

From over the washing machine he shuddered at the memory and took a deep breath to keep from getting hard just from the thought. The guy had been on his hands and knees so that Daniel hadn’t been able to see his face. Just the red curls. And he’d pulled at them, weaving one hand in while the other hooked over a shoulder, fingertips curling over and digging into the collar bone.

Armand had tossed the gray sweater to him from the floor when they were done, saying nothing but giving him the subtle smile of approval. Daniel had used it to wipe the glossy spray of cum from the stranger’s back, the least he could do, and watched as the boy used it on his front, as well, though most of his had just gone into the sheets.

And then the striped shirt; pale seafoamy green with bold coral lines. He dropped it into the machine with such a vague sense of shame. That was vomit, wasn’t it? All down the front. Fabric stiff with it. He maybe remembered, sort of. It had happened so many times at this point, sometimes he couldn’t be sure which memories were which. But he did have the vague image of… sitting on the bathroom floor… puking so hard that his eyes were watering… or maybe he was crying… _I want to die! I want to fucking die!_ …  Armand sitting on the edge of the tub and just staring, watching…

Sometimes he wondered if Armand liked it when he drank himself sick. Bodily functions never grossed him out the way they would a regular human and he was always so _curious_. It wasn’t humiliating in that sense, just… alienating. Feeling like he was on display or something.

He could hear the silky voice in his head, unsure if it was a memory or something he’d just conjured on his own. It was hard to know these days. But he could imagine it coming from the patient face. “You shouldn’t drink so much, Daniel.”

_You would drink this much if you were me._

Next was the Queen shirt; turquoise with red piping. He’d actually learned this one’s name. Kinda liked him. One of those moments where he wondered what his life would be like if he’d never gotten involved with Armand, had never met Louis, never done the goddamn interview, could’ve gone his whole fucking life without knowing vampires existed. For the first time in a while he’d actually been paying attention to the person he was fucking, whose _body he was inside_ , not so focused on Armand’s gaze from the corner. The boy was on top of him, straddling his hips, fingers splayed cross Daniel’s chest, pushing the shirt up under his armpits. And as he leaned forward his hair was in his eyes, black curls, not unlike Louis’s, actually. Daniel held him by the waist, digging his fingers in until his thumbs hooked beneath the ridges of his ribs. The boy had been setting the pace from the top, moving at his own speed and to his own depth, but Daniel began to thrust upwards against him. He’d been medium-loud throughout the ordeal, which Daniel liked, but eventually when he’d leaned back, hands on Daniel’s thighs for leverage as he found the angle he needed, he came with a suffering little gasp. Daniel felt it splash hot on his chest and could see the way it defiled the crown and lions on the t-shirt logo. The sight made him follow, and he could hear Armand’s voice in his head with the praise. _Beautiful, Daniel. Beautiful._

That had been a week ago, maybe. He wasn’t sure. Nights were mixing together. But the cream shirt now, the one with the teal pocket over the breast, and the jeans they’d been balled together with. He’d been wearing them this morning.

_This isn’t normal. People don’t make messes like this._

…

_You’re not people._

He’d been standing over by the window, watching the sky and lighting a cigarette. Almost dawn; he was learning to see the small clues, the slightest changes in the colors outside. So tired that his eyes were burning, hoping the nicotine would get him through this last hour before Armand would finally leave.

“Would you like me to leave?” Armand asked from the other end of the room. Voice soft, almost human sounding. Daniel shut his eyes against the pang of guilt that rose up.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just tired.”

_I wish you could stay._

Tired, but. God, it always hurt a little when Armand left, no matter how quickly he would pass out. Always hurt a little to wake up in the empty bed.

“Why don’t you come lay down, Daniel?”

There was the quick jolt from the cigarette as he inhaled, the kick in the lungs. Leaned against the window frame to blow the smoke out. He could feel it swirl through his blood, pulse creeping up, feel the way it made his head swim for a brief, wonderful moment.

“Come lay down,” Armand said again, except that he was right behind Daniel this time, and Daniel started. Nearly dropped his cigarette.

“Jesus, Armand,” he held a hand up against his own chest and could feel his heart fluttering. “Don’t _do_ that.”

Armand said nothing, didn’t apologize because he never apologized, but put his hands on Daniel’s hips, leaning in and resting his head against Daniel’s shoulder blade. His fingertips came up underneath Daniel’s shirt. His skin wasn’t as hot as it had been at the beginning of the night, but wasn’t cold, either. He felt… normal. Daniel took another drag off his cigarette, deep this time, holding it in for as long as he could stand. Black spots danced across his vision when he finally exhaled.

“Come lay down.” Armand’s hands were flat against Daniel’s stomach now, under his shirt, running in slow circles.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel could feel some of the tension leaving his frame, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the embrace or the nicotine. He supposed it didn’t matter. “Let me finish my cigarette.”

The sky was rising into pale blue. They’d be able to hear birds soon.

Armand’s hands went rigid against him, and Daniel felt his body pulled back into an embrace, cigarette still between his lips as Armand came up on his toes and bit into Daniel’s neck. No warning except the gesture itself, and the sudden flare of pain from the pierce of fangs tripped his breath, tricked him into taking an abrupt, deep drag. The smoke hit his lungs along with the sting at his throat, both sensations bringing on a head rush that had him wavering on his feet. The light in the sky seemed brighter and the buildings across the street did a little twist in his vision. A moan uncurled from somewhere deep and he allowed himself to lean back against Armand’s hard body.

It was just a taste, and over soon enough, but Armand’s mouth remained there, kissing and licking the wounds, hands still exploring beneath Daniel’s shirt. There were still the aftershocks of the bite, the pain that reverberated down his spine, to his fingertips. It spread like warmth and pooled in his gut, and he barely had a moment to take stock of how hard he’d gotten before Armand’s hand had slipped down beneath the waistband of his jeans and given him a squeeze.

“You taste good,” Armand mumbled, lips still against the teeth marks. “I can feel the cigarette.”

Any words Daniel was scrambling for in response disappeared as Armand gave him a firm stroke. A low groan came through his mouth with the curl of smoke that seeped out.

“I can feel the way it makes you dizzy,” he said. He hadn’t healed the wounds yet and teased one of them with the tip of his tongue. “It tingles.”

The blood was trickling and pooling in the hollow of his collar bone, but he knew Armand was allowing this. His hand slowed on Daniel’s cock, fingertips tracing patterns light enough that it was infuriating.

“Don’t stop,” Daniel whined. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling the zipper open and giving them both more space to move. But Armand didn’t.

“Finish your cigarette,” Armand’s voice was calm and quiet, but so close that it sent a vibration over Daniel’s skin. It crashed against the feeling of the blood dripping, tickling. He gave another stroke, just one, an incentive. _Goddamnit, Armand,_ but he took the bait and took another pull.

Armand’s tongue came out against him, flat, lapping up the spill as his fingers did a quick flourish, thumb rubbing against his head in a way that made Daniel’s knees buckle and that was over too soon. It was hard to take even hits of smoke, breath catching the way it was. His heart thudded and he could feel blood leaking out again, flooding with the quickened pulse, but Armand was catching it. Armand even moaned himself.

There were maybe two hits left, it was burning low. He could feel the heat creeping towards his fingertips. He could feel the precum gathering at the tip of his dick, and the way Armand’s fingers were rubbing over it, smearing it down. He was ready to just drop the smoke, to be honest; let it set fire to the curtains, the room, the building. So fucking dizzy, and—

“Finish your cigarette,” Armand told him again. His lips were spreading the blood away from the wounds; it was sticky and warm and—

When he took the next drag, Armand _pulled_ at him, mouth clamping hard and teeth cutting in once more. The pain was so dull, throbbing so quietly there and radiating down, melting against the kick of nicotine and the shocks of pure pleasure coming from Armand’s hand. The smoke caught in his throat and choked him. Eyesight went white for a quick second. This was more blood than Armand usually took; his legs were starting to tremble. Hands were going numb.

“Fuck, Armand,” he panted. He held his cigarette with three fingers, hovering near his mouth, hand shaking. “ _I’m gonna come--_ ”

The teeth came down tighter in response, and it fucking _hurt_ , more than it ever did, it had gone fucking deep for a second and he could _feel_ the blood gushing; it must have been squirting and spraying against the inside of Armand’s mouth. Hurt enough that his whole shoulder went hot, and the adrenaline surged in his sides, and he cried out as the hair rose on his arms. He could hear it like it wasn’t his own voice; like it was someone else. Couldn’t tell if it sounded like an orgasm or like someone terrified for his life.

With Armand, it was usually both.

If he could’ve shouted words, he would have. But they escaped him. Mind blank as he felt himself convulsing, and felt himself spilling over Armand’s hand the way he was spilling into his mouth. And it was over, it was over, and Armand had bit his tongue and was healing the gashes now. Heart still pounding, and muscles contracting all over as he rode it down, as Armand gave him the few extra slow strokes until he was a quivering mess. The cigarette had burned down to the filter and gone out. He was too dazed to notice Armand taking it with his free hand and tossing it through the window.

There was the moment of aftershock and overstimulation where his entire body curled inwards, grabbing Armand’s wrist to stop him. Skin was hot again. No wonder. It had felt like his _throat had been ripped out_ for a moment. Armand had never brought him so close to death before. Heart still pounding and vision blurring.

“Come to bed, Daniel,” he purred once more.

In the laundromat on the corner, he dropped the clothes into the top of the machine. The stain on the front of his jeans glinted in the light. And… was that blood?

He pulled the shirt back out. Yeah. On the collar. Just a little. Armand had never spilled his blood before, either. This was different. He rubbed over it with his thumb. Still a little damp. It had sat in a crumpled heap all day, hadn’t had enough time or air to dry out.

“I’ll buy you new clothes,” he could hear Armand saying.

_Yeah, you’re gonna have to. I liked this shirt._

 


End file.
